All We Can Be: Copycat

A bit depressing: it's my lament that there are many great artists int the world, but the only ones that seem to be acknowledged are those of old. It is also how I feel about my writing; compared to many others, mine is like comparing an elementary painting to Da Vinci.

My wide eyes(closed Hold me, and its just a pose You’ve fitted into. Love, love Is a four-legged thing And we’ve all moved on To mechanical replacements. Sometimes I miss the old air It was clearer there, and a smile was a smile. A word was a word. But now everything is about I--ll-u-s-I-on And moving on. And forgetting. And making it to the End. Everyone is exceptional. Nothing counts as special credential. It’s too late to be creative, new. I am a Copy. Of him, their words, You.

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